


don't you cry

by CloudCover (RainyForecast)



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: 2018 NHL All Star Game, Accidental Baby Acquisition, Fluff, Idiots in Love, M/M, Magical Realism, Mutual Pining, Wishbabies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-05
Updated: 2018-03-05
Packaged: 2019-03-27 07:16:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13875903
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RainyForecast/pseuds/CloudCover
Summary: Flower is looking out at the balcony, and he’s got a wrinkle of concern between his eyebrows. “Are you on your pills, Sid?”“Bud. I’ve been on the pills since I was twenty years old, of course I am. Also, still really, really single.”“Maybe,” Flower says slowly. “Maybe you should have been upping your doses.”“What—” Sid says, before following Flower’s gaze to the balcony. And his heart stops.Aka, my favorite Sidgeno fandom specificcrack trope.





	don't you cry

                                                 

 

It’s Sid’s own fault, really, when he thinks about it. He’d let his guard down, is what he did.

After the last bits of All Star media and photos and autographs are finally over, after he’s spent some time making an obligatory appearance at dinner and drinks with a bunch of the other guys, he finally,  _ finally _ is able to head back to his room. He showered after the game, but Florida’s swampy heat always makes him sweat an unholy amount and he feels soggy and gross. 

All he wants in life is air conditioning, another shower, not to deal with any more people,  and to faceplant into bed. Maybe talk to Flower, a little. Flower isn’t just “people.” He doesn’t suck Sid’s energy like everyone else does, no matter how much he likes them. Flower is family.

He’d given him his key, so when he walks into his suite, Flower’s sprawled on the couch talking to Vero on his iPad. Sid indicates the shower and Flower waves him on. 

The suite has one of those rain shower things that sound nice in theory but that kind of annoy Sid because it takes forever to get rinsed off in the gentle flow. It gives him too much time to think.

And think he does. He can’t stop remembering the kids from this weekend. All the other players that bring their children along. Carting around sweet-faced babies and corralling excited kids in their tiny skates and tiny gloves.

Sid is very, very good at suppressing all of his yearning, but he’s been worn down in recent years. The Daleys and the Cullens and the Kunitzs, and Flower’s kids, all these happy, beautiful families around him as a reminder of what he doesn’t and probably won’t ever have. 

It’s… too late now, he thinks. Too late in his career for him ever to have a child that will remember their dad playing hockey. To take to an event like this.

It’s the one thought he tries hardest to press down, because fully acknowledging it will destroy him. But he’s exhausted, emotionally, from the long weekend and it’s… he just can’t keep it down. Like nausea.

Well. Not the  _ one _ thought. There’s still one more thing he refuses to think about. But.

It crests over him like a wave, the regret and the longing and the heartbreak, and he sucks in a gasping breath and has to steady himself on the shower’s tiled wall.

It takes him a while to calm his breathing, and some of the water running down his face is salt, but he scrapes the shattered bits of himself together. He pulls on one of the hotel’s robes and goes out to sit next to Flower.

He doesn’t says anything, can’t, really, but Flower takes a long look at him and smiles, a little sad.

“Oh, Sid,” he says. “ _ Désolé _ .” He knows Sid well enough to know which two things, exactly, can make Sid look  _ this _ wrecked.

The sweetness of the soft French is almost too much. Sid covers his face with his hands and takes a shuddering breath.

“I’m tired, is all,” he says. “Just tired.”

Flower hums in acknowledgement and mercifully says nothing more.

They sit for a while, in quiet, before Flower tactfully starts in on the welcome distraction of talking about his and Vero’s impasse regarding if they’re getting a cat or a dog.

It’s so good to listen to Flower talk. Sid slumps down on the fancy couch and puts his feet up on the coffee table, and makes affirmative sounds in all the right places.

“Sid,” Flower says sharply, startling him. He’d barely been listening to anything more than the cadence of Flower’s voice, not his actual words.

“What?”

Flower is looking out at the balcony, and he’s got a wrinkle of concern between his eyebrows. “Are you on your pills, Sid?”

“Bud. I’ve been on the pills since I was twenty years old, of course I am. Also, still really, really single.”

“Maybe,” Flower says slowly. “Maybe you should have been upping your doses.”

“What—” Sid says, before following Flower’s gaze to the balcony. And his heart stops.

There, just visible in the light spilling from the room, is a little huddled shape. He knows exactly what it is. 

Sid gets unsteadily to his feet and stumbles to the sliding glass door, fumbling with the latch. Traffic noise and humid air hit him like a wall as he gets the door open. 

It’s exactly what he thought it would be: a baby, asleep, wrapped snugly in a light cotton blanket. 

Sid kneels, and just, looks at them. He knows how this goes, he knows why they’re here. He’d wanted, too badly. Too much. And whatever mysterious powers of the universe that govern babies like this one had brought him or her to Sid. 

His hands shake as he picks the baby up, sliding one hand behind their precious, fragile head. Like a sleepwalker he carries the baby back into the room. 

In the light he can get his first proper look at the baby’s face. Pink and a little squashed,  with impossibly fragile eyelids that twitch with dreaming. He pulls a tiny hand out of the wrappings, and it clenches instinctively around his finger. The nails are so small, he marvels. Too small to be real. The baby makes a soft little sound, and Sid’s eyes flood. 

“Marc,” he says to Flower. “Look.”

“I see,  _ mon chum _ ,” Flower says, and comes closer, tugging loose the little roll of paper pinned to the baby’s blanket. He unrolls it. “Isobel Marie Crosby. It’s a girl.” 

“Hi,” Sid says brokenly to her. “Hi there.” His face is wet, he realizes. “Hi, baby girl.” She has a tuft of dark hair on her head, and when she blinks open her eyes, they’re a hazy newborn grey-blue. “Flower, look at her.”

“She’s beautiful,” Flower says, hushed, and touches her down-soft hair. “Congrats, Sid. You didn’t plan on this but I don’t know anyone who’s as ready as you are.”

“Fuck,” Sid breathes, tearing his eyes away from Isobel’s face for the first time. “I’m not though, what the fuck am I going to do, what the—”

“First of all,” Flower interrupts him. “You are not going to panic. You are going to sit down over there—” he points at the couch. “And I’m going to Google what the number of Tampa’s unexpected delivery agency is.” 

Sid sits, and would listen to Flower place the call, but he can’t concentrate on that, not when Isobel is blinking at him and continuing to make soft, inquiring little noises.

“Yes,” he answers her. “It’s me. I’m your dad.” Isobel snuffles a little, and then yawns. Her mouth is pink and like the rest of her, impossibly small. “Shhhh,” Sid says, even though she’s not upset. He gently rocks her a little. “I’m right here,” he tells her, and he thinks he’s either going to cry again or that maybe he never stopped from before. 

He’s hit with a sudden memory: his father, weeping, with a newborn Taylor in his arms. Sid had been nine years old and had never seen his father cry before, and it had scared him. He thinks he understands, now. 

 

***

 

Sid is still busy being entranced when there’s a knock on the door, which Flower thankfully goes to answer. There’s a murmur of voices, and then Flower reappears, dragging a large box. 

“Okay!” He says, and starts pulling things out. “Ah, here we go. Formula and diapers. These are going to be the most important. Thank heaven for UDAs. Vero and I never had to use one but remember Tanger and Catherine? What a night that was.” 

Sid gingerly gets to his feet, and comes over with Isobel to see what the agency had included. There’s a cartoon stork on the outside of the box, with a speech bubble declaring that the box has “Everything You Need For Your Unexpected Bundle of Joy.”

There are bottles and diapers and a can of formula. Burp cloths and tiny little onesies in neutral pastel yellows and greens. A folded up travel bassinet. Pamphlets. It’s a relief. He can take care of her now, at least until he’s able to get home to Pittsburgh and get to a store. 

Fuck, home to Pittsburgh. His flight is at six tomorrow. Which is—he checks the clock on the nightstand—in five hours. 

“I gotta fly home,” he tells Flower, blankly. “How am I supposed to fly home?” 

“You  _ can _ take a baby on an airplane, Sid,” Flower says with a smile. “People do it all the time.” He lays a comforting hand on Sid’s shoulder and Sid tries to keep breathing and slow down his racing pulse. 

 

***

 

Sid doesn’t get much sleep that night. Isobel needs to be fed and put to bed in the bassinet and then Sid needs to watch her breathe for awhile, just to make sure she’s okay. He’s too wound up to even try to sleep. Flower stays with him, thank god. He doesn’t deserve Flower, he really doesn’t. 

He and Tanger and the media team the Pens sent are all flying out together on a commercial flight. Sidney thinks about it for like, two seconds before he gets his phone out and starts dialing. He makes ridiculous amounts of money. Isn’t he allowed to do something ridiculous with it every once in a while? 

It’s easy to arrange a charter flight, even in the middle of the night, apparently. 

As the sky begins to turn grey with the first light of dawn, Sid is standing in front of the window, bottle feeding Isobel. She’s started fussing a few minutes ago, waking him from the fitful doze he’d finally been able to fall into. Flower is passed out on the couch. 

Sid’s phone chirps from an end table and when he goes over to look at the screen he sees that “Your flight will be ready at 9 am, Mr. Crosby.” He’d better let Tanger and the media team know about the change of plans. He nudges Flower awake. 

“You should go and get some sleep, eh?” he tells him. Flower yawns and blinks blearily. 

“You gonna be okay?” he asks Sid. 

“Probably?” Sid says. He’s terrified, but he can’t keep Flower around hand holding any longer. 

Flower’s eyes soften knowingly. “You’ll be great, Sid. I know it.” 

“Thanks,” Sid manages. Flower bends over Isobel to coo at her.

“Since I’m her favorite uncle already,” Flower says. “I need a picture.”

He takes a picture of Isobel in Sid’s arms as Sid continues to let her drink. In it he’s smiling down at her, happy and besotted, and the light of the morning is soft all around them. 

“Send it to me?” Sid asks. “And please don’t post it anywhere.” 

“I won’t post it to any social media,” Flower promises, and Sid is so exhausted and preoccupied that the suspicious phrasing is lost on him. 

 

***

 

“ _ Tabernak _ ,” Tanger breathes, when he catches sight of Sid in the lobby the next morning as he’s busy at the concierge's desk trying to figure out if any car services provide baby car seats. He’s got Isobel strapped to his chest in the soft cotton baby sling it had taken him half an hour to figure out. “What the fuck, Sid.”

“Pills must not have been strong enough,” Sid summarizes. “This is Isobel.”

“Oh my god,” Tanger says, and leans in for a look. “Hi, pretty girl.” He laughs. “Only you Sid. An unintentional wishbaby, named after Isobel Stanley.” 

Sid blinks. “Oh, wow, she is, isn’t she? That’s awesome.” Tanger rolls his eyes. 

“Now, explain your text about changing the travel plans?” 

Sid tells him and the media team people about the chartered flight, and Tanger’s grin tells him he’s going to get so much fucking shit for this. 

 

***

 

As they wait at the airport, Sid’s phone goes nuclear in his pocket. He pulls it out, terrified that something’s leaked to the media. It’s not the media, he sees, but notifications from a new group chat he’s apparently been added to, consisting of every Pens player, current or otherwise, from the last two years. Plus most of Team Canada’s roster, it looks like. And for some godforsaken reason, Alex Ovechkin. 

The first text is just the photo Flower took this morning. The first person to respond is, predictably, Duper, with “did sid finally steal someone’s baby,” followed by a gleeful “Nope!”  from Flower. This is followed by every variation of “WHAT THE FUUUUCK” possible. He can practically hear Flower’s delighted cackling from here. 

Sid groans, and turns off notifications for the app. He’d better call his parents before someone else gets too excited and beats him to it

 

***

 

When they land in Pittsburgh, Sid’s voicemail is full. His parents are on a flight from Canada, and Taylor is making noise about coming too, classes be damned. 

When he’d called Mario and then the front office, the general response was pretty much that they’d been expecting something like this and have had contingency plans for years. Which is a little insulting, frankly, Sid isn’t that predictable, or obvious, is he? 

 

***

 

Sid puts the travel bassinet in his bedroom. He of course doesn’t have a nursery ready, and he spent the entire flight reading parenting articles. The arguments for co-sleeping sound pretty strong, at least for when Isobel’s a newborn. 

The first night at home is a nightmare. Isobel cries and cries, and Sid walks the floor with her between bottles and diaper changes, rocking her and nearly crying himself out of exhaustion and frustration. 

“I’m trying, sweetheart,” he tells her. “I’m so sorry.”  

They have a game tomorrow. He has no idea what the fuck he’s going to do. He gets a text from his mother that their flight was delayed due to weather issues, and that it’s going to be a little longer before they arrive. He wants to scream. 

He falls asleep on the couch with Isobel laid on his chest, resting right over his heart. 

She’s quieter in the morning— just a few discontented snuffles before he changes her diaper. He spreads a bath towel on the living room floor to change her on, and wishes he had time to go and get her things like a changing table and a mobile and stuff. 

He still has a game tonight, and he looks at her and keeps wondering what the fuck he’s going to do. 

What he does eventually do is bundle her up as warmly as he can, and calls Tanger, to ask him if he still has Alex’s car seat from when he was a baby. 

“I’ll pick you up in 20,” Tanger tells him. “Try not to implode before then.” Sid thinks maybe a little more stress was bleeding through in his tone then he’d realized. 

When they get to the arena for the optional skate, Sid puts her back in the sling, feeling himself relax at having her close and safe again. She makes a little burbling noise at him. 

“Yeah!” he says to her, bouncing on his heels a little. “Time for hockey!” 

Tanger laughs. “A day old and already at a rink. She’s gonna be even more of a hockey nut than you are.”

“Only if she wants,” Sid says, unable to take his eyes off of how she’s blinking sleepily up at him. He smiles at her, and then he hears the click of Tanger’s phone camera. 

“For posterity,” Tanger grins unrepentantly. 

Sid frowns at him for appearance’s sake, then asks Tanger to send him a copy. 

 

***

 

As they near the dressing room doors, Dumo sticks his head out to ask one of the equipment guys something. He lets out a whoop when he spots Sid and Isobel. 

“Put your pants on, boys!” he shouts back into the room. “There’s a lady present!”

“The lady is an infant,” Sid says dryly as he walks in.

“Is that her?” Rusty exclaims, wide-eyed, as if Sid would waltz into the room with some other person’s baby. 

“Oh my god, she’s so tiny,” Jake coos, and with that, Sid is mobbed by his team, all trying  to speak  at a baby-appropriate volume and mostly failing. Isobel blinks up at them, and makes a face that almost looks like a smile, but is probably just her filling her diaper. The guys melt at it anyway. 

“Move,” Geno says, from behind Horny and Domenic. Sid hadn’t realized, in the hubbub, that he’d been hanging back. Suddenly Geno’s standing right in front of him, and Sid looks up at him, feeling a heavy significance settle on the moment for reasons he doesn’t quite understand. Geno stares down at Isobel, and reaches out to gently palm her head, smoothing down her floof of dark hair. 

“Beautiful, Sid,” Geno says, low and quiet. Sid just nods in thanks, not sure what would come out of his mouth if he opened it 

 

***

 

He is made a healthy scratch for the game, which he’s for once deeply grateful for. He’s dead on his feet, and he’s not leaving Isobel with someone else until his mom gets here. 

The press is told he’s got a family emergency, and he doesn’t even want to know what kinds of ludicrous scenarios they’re dreaming up. 

He gets himself and Isobel home, and he watches the game with her in the crook of his arm, making short work of another bottle of formula. 

“Look at that,” he says softly to her, when Geno scores a goal. “Your Uncle Geno is amazing.” Calling him that gives Sid a sad twinge, because he wishes— no. Not going down that road. 

By the time he’s got her propped up on his shoulder, patting her back to burp her, Geno has scored again. “Look at him go,” Sid tells her. He takes her surprisingly loud burp as agreement. 

“Even that’s cute,” he tells her. “How do you do it, eh?” 

By the time the game is over and Geno has a hat trick, she’s asleep in Sid’s arms. 

_ Congrats on the hatty _ he texts Geno. 

_ For baby ))))) _ Geno texts back, and Sid has to put his phone down and take a couple very deep breaths. 

 

***

 

For all of her perfect behavior throughout the day, Isobel puts him through another sleepless night. His parents arrive, finally, at three in the morning. He doesn’t have any idea how they managed to get a ride from the airport, really, or if they’d texted him earlier about their arrival. He has no idea where his phone is, Isobel is wailing, and he has spit up splattered down the back of his shirt. 

“Oh honey,” his mother says, and Sid has never been so glad to see anyone in his life. 

He hands his daughter off to her grandparents, tells them to wake him if she needs anything, anything at all, and passes out facedown on the living room couch, too tired to climb the stairs, or change his puke-y shirt. 

He wakes to Isobel’s cooing. She’s laying on a quilt on the living room floor. He recognizes it as one his mother had used for both himself and Taylor. Taylor, who should be in Minnesota, but is currently sprawled on the floor by her niece, telling her that she’s the prettiest, best baby in the whole world, yes she is. 

“Tay,” Sid croaks. “Is she okay? When did you get here? How long have I been asleep?”

“Yes, an hour ago, and ages, my dude. But relax, Mom’s got things under control. She’s at Babies R Us this very minute.” Sid slumps back onto the couch in relief, wincing at the stiffness in his neck and back from sleeping funny. 

“Go shower,” Taylor tells him. “You stink. Plus this little lady and I need to get to know each other.” 

The hot water makes Sid feel a lot more human, and a cup of coffee helps even more. While he’s in the kitchen, he notices several big bouquets and a pile of packages on the table in the breakfast nook. “What’s all this?” he calls out to Taylor.

“Your doorbell has been going nonstop with overnighted deliveries,” Taylor says. “Looks like the entire NHL knows Sidney Crosby is a daddy.” Sid brings the packages into the living room to open while he has his coffee and Taylor plays “This Little Piggy” with Isobel’s toes. 

“Oh my god,” Sid says, after he’s done. He’s got a rainbow of miniature jerseys and other baby things spread out around him. “This is insane.”

Taylor holds up a tiny orange onesie with “Giroux 28” emblazoned across it, cackling. “Oh, bro. Perfect.” 

“Over my dead body,” Sid grimaces, poking at the veritable pile of Ovechkin themed baby clothes. Pricey did send a Team Canada t-shirt that’s pretty awesome, though. 

It’s too big for Isobel by far though, so he just lays it over her and takes a photo. He sends it to Pricey as a thank you and then posts it to the team group chat, to the predictable outcry from the Americans. He can almost sense Geno start scheming to get her a Team Russia one. 

It doesn’t surprise him one bit when Geno himself rings the doorbell around an hour later. Sid’s sitting on the couch giving Isobel her bottle. He hears Taylor invite him in, and then Geno’s in the entrance to the living room, staring at Sid and Isobel, large shopping bag in hand. 

“Hey, G,” Sid says quietly, hoping that his bedhead isn’t as bad as he suspects it is. 

Geno just keeps looking at him for some reason, expression inscrutable. 

“You can come in,” Sid tells him, and Geno does. He sees all the rival team branded baby gear and snorts. 

“I’m come just in time,” he says, and sits down with his bag. He starts methodically pulling out what looks like every baby-related item the Pens store sells.

“Aw, G,” Sid says. “You didn’t have to.” Geno gives him a clear “don’t be stupid” look. The stuff is all pretty cute, and Sid smiles, imagining decking Isobel out on game days. 

“Look at that, Izzy,” he says to her. “Look what Uncle Geno brought you!” He looks up at Geno to smile at him in thanks, and Geno is just. Still kind of staring. Sid feels like it’s probably a little weird, him suddenly with a baby, or something. 

“Want to hold her?” he asks Geno, and Geno’s eyes go big. He takes her like she’s going to break, double checking with Sid that he’s holding her bottle correctly. When she’s all settled, he just stares down at her. 

“G?” Sid asks, and when he raises his face Sid can see that his eyes are red and watery. “I know,” Sid says. “I think I cried for half an hour when I’d just gotten her.”

“How happen?” Geno asks

“Just appeared on my hotel balcony after the last press stuff was over. I’m so glad Flower was there. I was a wreck. I just— I had just been thinking about all the guys who bring their kids to the All Star Game, you know? And how that would never be me, how it was too late and I’d missed my chance. And then, there she was. I think I was wanting so much she came despite the pills or the fact I don’t have a partner. “

“Good,” Geno says. “So happy for you. Hard to do alone, but you best.” 

Sid sighs. “Doesn’t feel like it when it’s 2 am and she won’t stop crying. 

Geno frowns. “Have help, yes?” 

“Mom and Dad came down, and Taylor. Mom’s gonna help me find a nanny. I don’t like the idea, but there’s no way I’m going to be able to deal without one, of course.” 

Geno nods, gazing down at Isobel. “Such trouble,” he tells her, in a fond, besotted tone that belies his words. 

Sid watches them, and, with the ease of long practice, ignores the way the sight makes him feel. 

 

***

 

Sid’s universe has undergone a profound orbital shift. He’d never imagined that anything would replace hockey as the center of his life, but Isobel eclipses it totally. 

He’d never give less than his all when he’s on the ice, but his life is just,  _ more _ , now. He looks at Isobel and his post-hockey future is still terrifying, but no longer an empty void of uncertainty. 

It’s devastating, the first time he has to leave her. The nanny he’d decided on, Tatiana Petrova, is wonderful, but Sid almost doesn’t manage to get out of the driveway. 

When he arrives at the airport, Tanger takes one look at his pale face and crazy eyes and clucks sympathetically at him. 

“The first roadie sucks,  _ mon chum _ . It’ll get easier. A little.” 

“Fuck everything,” is the only response Sid has. 

Just as they’re settling into the team plane’s seats, his phone chimes. It’s a photo from Tatiana, showing Isobel asleep in her crib, wearing her little Crosby 87 onesie. Sid smiles. 

Geno leans over from the aisle. “Is baby? Show?” 

Sid turns his phone, and Geno’s expression goes soft and ridiculous. 

“How’d you know it was a picture of Izzy, anyway?” Sid asks. 

“Wearing ‘baby face’,” Geno says absently, still looking at the picture. He hands the phone back to Sid with a smile. “Good luck baby,” he says, confidently. 

He may have a point. Sid knows that the road trip will take as long as it takes, but his hindbrain somehow feels like the harder he plays, and the more he scores, the faster he gets to go home. He goes on a tear, putting up points in all three of their road games. 

He bolts the second the plane doors open onto the Pittsburgh tarmac. 

“Bye Sid,” he hears someone call sarcastically after him. He raises a hand in acknowledgement but doesn’t turn around. 

 

***

 

“I’ve been meaning to ask,” Flower says during one of their frequent Skype calls. “Why’d you hire a  _ Russian _ nanny, Sid? What’s that all about?” 

“Good references, that’s what,” Sid says, and quickly changes the subject. 

 

***

 

Isobel’s eye color is changing, as babies’ do. It’s clear she’s going to have the same hazel eyes as Sid. 

She’s started raising her head up when she’s placed on her tummy and she’s recognizing faces better. Sid or Tatiana are met with delighted cooing now, and the first time Isobel smiles at him Sid cries. 

Then he makes silly faces to encourage her to do it again and sends the resulting video to everyone he knows. 

_ ))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))) best girl _ Geno sends back. 

 

***

 

It’s still hard. Isobel is difficult to get down to sleep, and she has a nasty bout of colic that has Sid walking the floor with her at night and showing up to practice with dark circles under his eyes and all the off-ice energy of a zombie. 

Geno frowns at him but doesn’t say anything. 

 

***

Geno may not have said anything to Sid at practice but he apparently made a plan of action. 

He rings Sid’s doorbell at 9 am on their next off-day, which for Geno on his free days is practically the asscrack of dawn. 

When Sid answers the door, he’s in his sleep pants and his hair is probably standing on end. He’s got spit up on his t-shirt and Isobel’s screaming from the living room. 

“Oh Sid,” Geno says, and smiles ruefully at him. 

Sid wordlessly steps aside to let Geno in.

“Where nanny,” Geno demands rather than asks. 

“When I’m home it’s her time off,” Sid says blearily. “Why are you here.”

Geno doesn’t deign to answer him, just kicks off his shoes and tosses his coat in the general direction of Sid’s coat rack. 

Sid shuts the front door and follows him in. 

In the living room Geno sets down the bag he’s carrying, and scoops Isobel up, crooning to her in soothing Russian. Isobel is pretty familiar with the sound of it due to Tatiana, and she quiets to stare at him, eyes big and watery with tears. 

The sleep deprivation, the stress, and the sad, wobbly-chinned look on her face somehow just  _ gets _ to Sid, and he feels his own eyes burn and threaten to spill over as well. 

The next thing he knows, Geno is next to him, wrapping his free arm around Sid’s waist and pulling him in. Sid really, really shouldn’t, but he lets himself collapse into Geno, tucking his face into Geno’s shoulder. Geno strokes soothingly along Sid’s side, and they all just stand there for a minute, Geno practically holding Sid up. 

“Ok,” Geno says. “Get me bag I’m bring.” It’s torture to ease away from the comforting solidity and warmth of Geno’s body but Sid obeys. 

The bag turns out to have takeout from Sid’s favorite restaurant, a little box of dairy-free chocolate truffles, and an adorable stuffed terry cloth penguin. Sid stares at it all, then looks back up at Geno uncomprehendingly. 

“Sid,” Geno says gently. “Gonna be okay. Go eat, then go sleep.” 

“But—”

“I’m know how to change diaper, Sid, lots of my friends have baby. When she eat?”

“I fed her right before you got here,” Sid says faintly, feeling something like relief begin to steal over him. “But there’s instructions for her formula on the fridge.” 

“Perfect,” Geno says, still sounding calm, even though Isobel is beginning to make fussing noises again. “Eat.”

Sid does. He sits on the floor at the coffee table as he eats, watching Geno wander the living room with Isobel in his arms, keeping up a running commentary in Russian to her. 

He feels better after the food. Isobel has miraculously fallen asleep in Geno’s arms. Geno settles onto the couch, and gives Sid a chastising look. 

“Sid. Sleep.”

Sid considers going up to his room for a moment, but he doesn’t feel like lying in bed alone while Geno and Isobel are sitting downstairs. He pulls the fuzzy throw blanket off of the back of the couch and curls up in it, feeling his eyelids grow heavy. 

Dimly, as he slips under, he hears Geno quietly singing something rough and off-key and sweet to Isobel. 

Right before wakefulness leaves him completely, he thinks he feels something brush gently against his hair. But it’s probably just his imagination.

 

***

 

When he wakes up, his first though is  _ Where is Izzy? _ and the second is  _ Why do I hear so much Russian? _

He opens his eyes and sits up, rubbing at them. He follows the voices to the kitchen, where Tatiana is washing baby bottles out at the sink, cheerfully talking to Geno, who’s got Isobel passed out on his shoulder. He’s resting a hip against Sid’s counter, and he looks so at home. Sid is not awake enough for this. 

“Ah, Sid!” Tatiana says, catching sight of him over her shoulder. She snickers a little at him, not unkindly. “Hair looks good!” 

Sid scrubs at his unruly hair. It’s getting long and curling all over the place these days. He hasn’t had any time to go cut it, and at this point he doesn’t care. 

“Whatever  _ whatever _ , Tanya,” he says back, his voice scratchy and rough with sleep. 

Isobel must hear him, because she wakes up and makes an inquiring noise. 

“Hi baby,” Sid says to her, and goes to take her from Geno. Geno’s looking at him funny again. He’d better check his hair, if it’s  _ that _ bad. Sid cuddles his daughter, blowing a raspberry into her neck to make her giggle. 

“You guys getting acquainted?” he asks Geno and Tatiana. “Tanya’s from Saint Petersburg, you know.” 

Geno makes a fleeting face at Sid’s use of the diminutive for Tatiana’s name. Sid wonders if it’s rude. Tatiana herself told him he could, so he doesn’t know what that’s all about. 

“Yes,” Geno answers him. “Izzy gonna speak Russian for first word, we make big plan.” 

Sid laughs, resting his cheek on his daughter’s head. “Sure, sounds good.” He sways Isobel a little. “That right, sweetheart? Between that and whatever French you’re going to learn from Uncle Tanger and Uncle Flower and Uncle Duper, you’re going to be a mess.” 

“Aaa-aa, ba,” Isobel says, and Sid closes his eyes for a moment and smiles, enjoying the smell of her baby shampoo and the warm weight of her in his arms. When he opens his eyes, Geno is doing it again, looking at Sid and Isobel like he’s just been boarded, and Tatiana is looking between the two of them with something like glee. 

Whatever. Geno’s going to have to sort out whatever kind of crisis he’s having on his own. 

 

***

 

Geno comes over all the time after that, it feels like. And while it’s making getting over Sid’s feelings for him exponentially more difficult, Sid can’t deny that it’s easier to have all the help. 

Isobel also really enjoys gnawing on the flippers of the terry cloth penguin Geno gave her. It’s one of her favorite toys. Geno is one of her favorite  _ people _ , too, she crows and giggles at him, and he dotes on her even more than the other guys do, which is saying a lot. When Sid takes her to the rink, it’s like a visit from royalty. 

Sid loves it. His daughter is going to grow up with an entire roster of doting uncles, Geno chief among them. 

Sid is grateful for Geno’s presence in his and Isobel’s lives, whatever form it takes. He knows it won’t last forever. Someday, Geno is going to meet and marry some beautiful Russian woman and have adorable babies of his own. Sid is a little ashamed of his selfishness in being secretly glad that “someday” isn’t here yet. 

 

***

It’s a rude awakening, then, when one day they’re playing on the living room floor with Isobel when Tatiana happens to walk by and Geno’s eyes follow her. 

“She’s pretty,” Geno says, and Sid’s stomach feels leaden. Suddenly, “someday” feels a lot closer. 

“For sure,” is all he can say in response. She is. She and Geno would have beautiful children. Sid looks down at his daughter and thinks that wanting anything beyond the unimaginable happiness of having her would be greed beyond belief.

 

***

 

Sid wonders if he should give Tatiana’s number to Geno, but he figures 1. He definitely shouldn’t do that without asking her first, 2. Geno is a grown-ass man and if he wants to ask out Sid’s nanny he can jolly well do it himself, and 3. Sid’s not self-loathing or selfless enough to help the man he’s in love with get together with someone else. 

 

***

 

They’re getting ensconced on the plane early one morning when Geno’s phone chirps with some kind of alarm. He swears violently and yanks his bag out of the overhead bin, scrabbling through it. Everyone in the seats nearest to him stops what they’re doing to watch. Geno finally digs out a pill bottle and shakes some out into his palm before dry swallowing them. Sid winces in sympathy. 

“Geez, how many of those fucking baby blockers are you even taking? I’ve never seen someone on that many,” Phil says. 

Geno pushes him away with a hand to his face and doesn’t answer. 

 

***

 

Geno’s asleep on Sid’s couch with Isobel on his chest. She’s making snuffly little sleep sounds and has one tiny hand fisted in Geno’s t-shirt. 

Every time something like this happens Sid thinks that this is it, this is surely the apex of his stupid crush, after this he’ll be able to start moving on. 

The universe may have been generous in its gift of Isobel, but it also has a terrible sense of humor. 

Geno’s eyelashes flutter open, and Sid is frozen, face heating at being caught staring. Geno smiles sleepily at him. Sid thinks he feels his heart break just a little bit more.

 

***

 

“So, Evgeni’s been here a lot,” Tatiana says with suspicious casualness to Sid one morning, as he’s getting his things together before heading to practice. Sid’s hands freeze on his gear bag for a split second. 

“Yeah,” he says and swallows. “I think he likes you.” When Tatiana doesn’t answer him he looks up. The look she’s giving him is scathing. 

“What? He thinks you’re pretty,” Sid says. “Do you want me to give him your number?” He feels vaguely proud of himself for managing to put Geno and Tatiana’s future happiness above his own.

“Sid,” Tatiana groans, and pretends to bang her head against the fridge in exasperation. Sid assumes that means no. 

“Sorry,” he tells her, without knowing quite what he’s apologizing for. She sighs, and comes over to pat his cheek. 

“Boys are so stupid,” she says. 

“Sorry?” Sid says again, still confused. 

Tatiana shakes her head. “Don’t worry about it. Have a good practice.” 

 

***

 

They have a completely horrible blowout one night, on home ice no less. They made a lot of dumb mistakes and Sid makes it through the post-game media scrum only by putting on his blandest and most inscrutable expression. They get a dressing down from Sully, all quiet vehemence and simmering anger. Sid senses a closed practice and a bag skate in their future. 

Sid unlocks his car with his stomach full of seething self-recrimination. He just wants to get home and hold his baby and collapse into bed. He’ll probably end up on the couch through, obsessively going over game footage until an ungodly hour of the morning. 

To his surprise, Geno is waiting for him when he gets home, leaning against his car with an air of impatience. 

“Drive so slow,” Geno tells him, after Sid parks. 

“What are you doing here,” Sid demands, a little sharply. He can’t— he doesn’t have the energy to be faced with Geno in his home again, being  _ there _ and wonderful and unattainable. 

Geno doesn’t answer him, just makes a hurrying gesture from Sid to his front door. Sid gives in, because he always gives in to Geno. 

Tatiana meets them in the hall with a sympathetic smile. 

“She went down for the night really well,” she tells Sid. “But you’re going to go wake her up, aren’t you? Oh, hi Evgeni.” She says his name with kind of meaningful emphasis that Sid really doesn’t want to examine more deeply. He drops his shit in an untidy pile in the entryway, and gives Tatiana a tight smile. 

“Thanks,” he tells her, and hurries off to snuggle Isobel and let her and Geno talk, or whatever. 

Isobel’s nursery is dim and calm. He takes a deep, cleansing breath and feels at least a little bit of tension leave him. She’s sleeping but he slides his hands underneath her to lift her anyway. He takes her to the rocker and sits down with her, to watch her chest rise and fall with her breathing and her lashes twitch as she dreams. 

There’s a noise in the hall and then Geno is there, carefully easing the nursery door open. Sid’s stomach lurches. 

“Did Tatiana go home?” Sid asks. 

“Uh huh,” Geno says, giving Sid a long, considering look. “I’m not like her, Sid. She say you think I’m like her, want ask her on date. Not true.” 

It takes all of Sid’s composure to keep his face neutral. “Okay?” he says. 

Geno nods, then his eyes fall from Sid’s face to Isobel’s, and the weird, intense look he’d been wearing softens. “Hi baby,” he says, and comes in to brush a hand over her head, thumb gently stroking her cheek. 

“Good therapy, huh?” Sid says.

“Not your fault, Sid. We all lose game, together. Won’t lose next one.”

Sid sighs, but doesn’t bother to argue. He doesn’t want to wake Isobel up. “Why’d you follow me home, G?” 

“Want to make sure you don’t sit and watch tape whole night. Also, maybe I’m want to hold baby too” Geno replies. 

Sidney laughs softly and lifts Isobel so Geno can take her. He leans his head back against the rocker’s headrest and watches Geno rock her, murmuring to her in Russian. He lets himself pretend, just for a moment, that this is their post-game routine. That after they lay Isobel back down to sleep, Geno’s going to let Sid slip off his tie, and his dress shirt, and take him by the hand to Sid’s bedroom. He lets himself imagine Geno sliding into bed with him, letting Sid wrap an arm around his waist and pull him close. 

“Win next game for you,” Geno promises, startling Sid out of his fantasy. “Promise. Win for you and Izzy.” 

Greed, Sid reminds himself. Pure greed to want more than all of the blessings he already has. 

 

***

 

As has become their off-day routine, Geno’s over again. He’s playing in the living room with Isobel while Sid gets lunch ready. 

Sid is about to step into the living room to ask Geno what he wants on his sandwich, when he realizes with a start that Geno’s speaking to Isobel in English. 

“— and you have best papa, you know? Best. Love you so much,” Geno is saying. Isobel crows and pats at Geno’s face with her little starfish hands. “Take such good care of you. Take care of team too, best captain, best hockey, best everything.” There’s a weird quality to Geno’s voice that Sid can’t parse, and he heads quietly back to the kitchen without making his presence known, head swimming and heart aching. 

 

***

 

“Was Evgeni just here?” Tatiana asks, coming into the kitchen. Sid snaps himself out of the pensive daze he’d been in. He resumes scrubbing at the baby bottle that had been dangling from his hand. 

“So stupid, so stupid, so stupid,” Tatiana chants under her breath as she rummages around getting ready for the evening. 

She’s a godsend but damn if she doesn’t confuse the fuck out of Sid sometimes.

 

***

He’s stretched out on the player’s lounge couch at the practice rink, half dozing before he needs to go give an interview. Isobel had a fussy night and he doesn’t want to talk to a reporter punch-drunk tired. 

He’s just starting to drift when he hears people walk in. 

“Good, no one’s in here,” he hears Tanger say. “Okay listen up.”

Sid opens his eyes and is about to sit up and announce his presence when Tanger continues.

“What the fuck are you doing with Sid, man?”

And  _ Geno _ angrily answers him: “What you talking about?”

“Don’t act dumb, man. Are you telling me you have no idea how fucking gone on you he is? Don’t fucking play with him. He’s been in love with you for years, Okay? Don’t make things harder for him.”

A dizzy wave of nausea crests over Sid and and he sits upright. He catches a brief glimpse of their startled faces before he bolts. 

“Wait, Sid—“ he hears, but he keep going. 

“Got an interview,” he calls over his shoulder, loathing how choked and wobbly his voice comes out. 

He’s not proud of running away, but there’s no way he’s staying in that room a second longer. 

 

***

 

Sid can’t catch a break. Geno’s car is in his drive when Sid gets home. His hands shake as he puts his car in park. He wonders if this is it: the implosion of their twelve year friendship.

He hears voices when he walks in. Tatiana and Geno are talking loudly and somewhat argumentatively in the living room. 

Geno has his back to the door so Tatiana sees Sid first. She abruptly switches to English. 

“So do something, yeah?” 

Perhaps as a reflex Geno switches too. “Second time I’m get this talk today—“

“Hi Sid!” Tatiana says loudly. “Isobel is napping, I’m going home. Good luck.”

“Wait—“Sid says, but she sweeps out of the room with a pat to his shoulder.

He’s left standing there, alone with Geno. Fuck, every time he goes in his own living room he’s going to be reminded of this moment. 

“Look at me, Sid,” Geno says. Sid can’t tell what emotion he’s hearing in his voice. 

Sid doesn’t look. “G. I wasn’t gonna— I’d never make you uncomfortable, okay? Tanger made it sound like more than— please—”

“ _ Sid _ .” 

“Can you please just go?” Sid’s voice cracks on the last syllable. “And try to forget about this, if you can. For the sake of the team— ” 

“ _ Look _ at me, Sid,” Geno says over the top of whatever Sid’s trying to babble next. He’s suddenly right there in front of him, close enough to reach out and touch. Sid slowly raises his eyes to Geno’s face. 

“No,” Geno says, low, and forceful. “Not gonna forget.” 

Sid is going to be sick. This is worse than what even he’d imagined. He closes his eyes, as if doing so will somehow mean this isn’t happening. Fuck, is Geno going to ask for a trade or— 

“Oh no, no no no _no_ , Sid, Sid, look at me, baby,” Geno says then, and he’s  _ pleading _ . And cupping Sid’s face in his hands. Sid’s eyes open in shock, to meet the beseeching expression in Geno’s. 

“Sid,” Geno says, so tenderly Sid can’t breathe.  He gathers Sid in, and Sid finds himself being pressed against Geno’s chest. 

“Geno?” Sid manages to ask. “G?” 

Geno lets go of him far enough to reach up and brush his thumb along the curve of Sid’s jaw. 

“Sorry, Sid,” he says. “Tanger and Tatiana tell me I’m most stupid, been hurting you.” 

Geno’s dizzyingly gentle touch is making it hard for Sid to think. So this is just...a very tender apology? What is Geno doing. Sid should pull away, put some space between their bodies, but he can’t seem to make his feet move. 

“It’s fine,” he says, and he can hear the media-voice blandness creeping into his words. “You were trying to be a good friend and I—”

“Sid,” Geno says, shaking his head. “Wasn’t good friend. Wanted to be close to you. But didn’t ever tell truth, say why.” 

Sid blinks, and waits for Geno to explain. 

Geno takes a deep, deep breath. “Love you, Sid. Love you so much.” 

Sid makes an involuntary noise, and reaches up to put a hand on the back of Geno’s neck, and tug. Before Geno lowers his lips to Sid’s, Sid catches a glimpse of his smile, wide, and brilliant. 

 

***

 

By the time Isobel starts fussing from her crib upstairs, Sid is lying half across Geno’s chest on the sectional. Their mouths are reddened and both of them have kiss marks beginning to bloom on their necks and across their collarbones. 

“Oh, Izzy,” Sid says, and dazedly lurches to his feet. “I gotta—”

“Me too?” Geno asks, a little plaintive. 

“For sure,” Sid says, giving him what is probably a really stupid smile. Geno smiles back, and reaches out a hand for Sid to help haul him to his feet. 

“Lazy-ass,” Sid tells him fondly. 

“You very strong, can do, no problem,” Geno says, and it comes out appreciative. Sid flushes, nevermind that he’s had his tongue in Geno’s mouth in the last ten minutes. 

They go to get Isobel together, and Geno goes to get her bottle ready while Sid changes her diaper. 

When Geno comes back upstairs, Sid’s sitting with her in the rocker and Geno pauses in the doorway, eyes shining with happiness. 

“Beautiful,” Geno says, and Sid doesn’t know if he means Sid, or Isobel, or the sight of both of them together. He supposes it doesn’t really matter. He knows now how much Geno loves them both.

 

***

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


_ June 2028 _

 

Game Seven is in Pittsburgh. Sid knows nothing is certain, especially in hockey. But he can’t help but want this— to have his last career game win them the Cup, on home ice. 

Even if it doesn’t, he can’t deny that this Final has been beyond his wildest dreams. He’d teased Cully about his age when Cully was 40 during the 2017 playoffs, but Sid had never imagined that he’d be still playing at the same age. Wished, yes, but not thought it possible. But here he is, in one piece. 

He can’t sleep though. He’s downstairs in the kitchen, having a cup of chamomile tea in an effort to help himself settle. His mother swears by it, but he privately isn’t convinced. 

Geno, the fucker, is sleeping like the dead upstairs. Of course, he retired two years ago, and he doesn’t have the pressure of leading the team to the Final tomorrow.

There’s a noise, and he looks up to see Isobel in the doorway to the kitchen, trailing the sash to her robe and rubbing at her eyes. 

“Hon,” Sid says. “What are you doing up?” 

She doesn’t answer, only yawns and shuffles over to clamber into his lap. She’s 10, almost too big, but it seems they both need the comfort tonight. 

“Can’t sleep,” she says. “Thinking about tomorrow.” 

“Whatever happens, happens,” he tells her. “You know that.” He sighs and they sit for a moment in quiet before he continues. “I’ve been so lucky, you know. You, Andrei, Yuliya, Martin, and your papa. You guys are better than the Stanley Cup. Way better.” 

She snuggles into him. “I still want you to win, though.” 

“I’ll do my best, bug,” he says, and kisses the top of her head. 

 

***

 

The Stanley Cup still weighs thirty-four pounds, but when he sweeps it over his head for the last time, it’s the lightest it’s ever felt. 

He kisses the the cool metal, like he’s done every time he’s won it, but it feels even better to kiss Geno when all of the team’s families tumble out onto the ice.

“Daddy!” Isobel screams at him. Geno has to hold her back before she breaks into a run and ends up face planting on the ice. The twins are a lot more apprehensive, and their youngest stays safely in Geno’s arms, clinging to his neck. 

“Good job,  _ solnyshko, _ ” Geno murmurs into Sid’s ear, as they hang on to each other amid the ecstatic bedlam and flashing cameras. Martin pats concernedly at the tears coursing down Sid’s face.

“It’s okay, bud, I’m just happy,” Sid tells him, and kisses his chubby cheek before gathering his three older children into a group hug. 

“You stink,” Andrei complains, and they all laugh. 

Sid leans his forehead against Geno’s for a minute and closes his eyes, just taking the moment in, and that’s the photo that gets splashed all over the magazine covers. In it, Geno has his eyes open, looking at Sid with proud devotion while the kids cluster around them in their Crosby jerseys, Isobel still yelling with her fists in the air, black and gold hair ribbons flying. 

And it’s perfect.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Partially beta'd by [werebear ](https://archiveofourown.org/users/werebear/). All remaining issues are my fault entirely!
> 
> Title is from "Baby Mine." I like the Allison Krauss version.
> 
> You can find me as [creaturesofnarrative ](http://creaturesofnarrative.tumblr.com/) (main) and [knifeshoeoreofight](http://knifeshoeoreofight.tumblr.com/) (hockey blog) on Tumblr, and as @RainyForecast on Twitter. Come say hi!


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